I can't do it
by Queen of Fairyland
Summary: Draco's thoughts as he points his wand at Dumbledore in the Half Blood Prince spoilers obviously PLEASE REVIEW I might use this for coursework. COMPLETE. Final draft posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Draco's internal monologue**

**(during pages 546-556 of chapter twenty-seven 'The Lightning struck tower' of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.)_**

**_A/N: _This is along the same lines as another one-shot I did of Snape called Hate (see profile), in that I said it was for my coursework, which this is too. Some people said it might be viewed as plagiarism, I should have explained that the assignment is to transpose one type of text into another. So this is prose fiction to a monologue. Anyway PLEASE REVIEW because I'd love to get your thought, it could really help me out. Thanks. Read on.**

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This is it. Months and months of preparation, and I'm finally here. Dumbledore is practically on his knees, and the Dark Mark is blazing brightly in the sky.

He tells me to get on with it. _Get on with it?_ Does the old man even know what he's talking about? His next statement tells me he clearly does, and suddenly makes me realise he's right, I can't do it. A voice that sounds suspiciously like my father, tells me to get on and do it. How many people would give their right arm for this opportunity? And here I am throwing it away!

But what if I want to throw it away? I think angrily. What if I don't want to be a murderer? What if I don't want to become the carbon copy of my father? But I realise that it's either turn into him, or loose him, and mother. I don't have a choice, I will do it. I have to do it. What does Dumbledore know anyway? A lot I discover quickly as he keeps talking. He's known all along.

I listen as he praises my intelligence, my plan, me. There's no need for him to keep telling me how clever it was. I'm a Malfoy. How could he suspect anything else?

He's stalling and I know it. I can't fathom why, it looks like he's done for anyway, even if I don't do it. But it doesn't matter, I let him do it. The longer he waits, part of me thinks, the longer it is until I become a murderer. My hand shakes at this thoughts, and I desperately try to steady it, keeping my wand aimed at his heart as I respond to his inane questions. Why do I respond? Why not? He'll be dead soon anyway.

But he points out exactly what I'm trying to ignore; the fact that I could have killed him ten times over by now if I wanted to. I feel my hand shake again and fight the urge to lower it. I draw my attention back to his voice, he wants to discuss my options? I have none! I tell him so, but he keeps talking, and I reluctantly listen. He'll protect me? My mother, and even father? After everything I've done, everything father's done?

I try to argue with him, reason with him. I'm strong, I can do this.

But . . . to be safe, and not have to kill?

I begin to lower my wand slowly, but stop when I hear footsteps from the stairs, and watch as four of my fellow Death Eaters intrude on mine and Dumbledore's little chat. They taunt him, and encourage me, order me to do it. But I can't. I'm shaking so violently now that I doubt I could, even if I tried.

They're screaming at me angrily, but I can't do it. I don't even look at them. I can't tear my eyes away from Dumbledore. He's on the floor, he must be in pain, but he's refusing to show it. Our eyes meet and his twinkle reassuringly at me.

I drag my gaze away as the screeching stops, to see Snape standing in the doorway. Immense relief wells up inside of me as Snape sweeps onto the tower. I watch silently as Dumbledore pleads with him. Why would Dumbledore plead for his life? It seems unlikely, especially considering he supposedly trusts Snape. Surely he'd assume Snape would help him, why would he plead?

My thoughts are jarred to a halt as a green light hits Dumbledore squarely in the chest, throwing him over the castle walls. I watch as he falls out of sight, and let myself be coerced down the stairs.

Dumbledore is dead. My plan succeeded and Dumbledore is dead. Snape may have uttered the words, but I did it, I killed him. My parents are safe. I am safe. So why does it feel like I've just condemned myself? Why do I feel so empty?

_Because_, a small part of me whispers,_ you've sold your soul to the devil, and doomed yourself to a life of hell in his service._

As Snape leads me across the school grounds, I gaze through the battling wizards at the spot where Dumbledore must lay.

Dead.

And I realise that my last hope of freedom died with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello readers! This is my final draft of my coursework that I'm handing in next week, thought I'd post it here after the first version because it's developed quite a bit since then.**

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**Internal monologue/stream of consciousness of Draco's thoughts during Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (chapter 27:'The Lightening Struck Tower' pages 546-556)**

The climax. The culmination of months and months of planning, plotting and preparation. The great and powerful headmaster is practically on his knees, and the Dark Mark is blazing proudly and brightly in the sky.

He tells me to get on with it. _Get on with it?_ Does the old man even realise what he is telling me to get on with? Has he finally lost the last precious remnants of his sanity? His next statement tells me he clearly hasn't; he most certainly knows what he is talking about. His softly uttered words make me realise that he is right. I cannot do it. A voice that sounds suspiciously like my father's whispers conspiratorially in my ear, urging me on. How many would give their right arm for this opportunity?

What if I don't wish to be a murderer? What if I do not desire to become the carbon copy of my father?

No one asked me what I wished to do, they all made their assumptions - thrust me into a role I did not choose. I wasn't given a choice. And I don't have one now either. I must follow in the footsteps of my father, or loose him, along with my mother. I do not have a choice, I will do it. I have to.

I am not naïve, I know I was expected to fail. It was the Dark Lord's way of punishing my father without losing his valuable service. I was not chosen for my skill at all, but my seeming lack of it. I was expected to fail, but have succeeded; truimphed Will I be rewarded, or punished? After all I have prevented the Dark Lord's vengeance for my fathers mistakes.

It does not matter either way, I decide, I must do this to save my father, to restore respect to my family name. I am choiceless.

What does Dumbledore know about it? Everyone has a choice in the rose tinted world of Albus Dumbledore. But I discover he knows much more than he should as he continues, much more than anyone should. He's known all along.

I listen as he praises my intelligence, my cunning, my plan, me. I am a Malfoy after all, how could he suspect anything less?

He's delaying the inevitable. I just cannot fathom why; to the outside observer he looks as if he's about to meet his maker, pay the piper, start pushing up daisies here and there. But it doesn't matter; I let him do it. _The longer he waits_, the part of me my father has yet to gain command of whispers, _the longer it is until I become a killer_; a cold hearted monster like him. A tremor runs through me at these thoughts and my hand trembles slightly. I desperately try to steady it, keeping my wand aimed at his heart as I respond to his inane questions. Why do I respond? Why ever not? He will be dead soon anyway.

But he points out exactly what I am trying to ignore; the fact that I could have killed him a million times by now if I had wanted to. I can feel my hand shudder again and I fight the almost overwhelming urge to lower my wand. I draw my attention back to his fast fading voice, he wishes to discuss my options? Now? It is unmistakably clear that I have none and I tell him so, but he persists in talking, and reluctantly I listen. How can he protect mother, even father and me? Why would he want to after everything we have done?

I try to argue with him, to reason with him. I am strong. I can do this.

But . . . to be able to be safe, and not have to kill? He is giving me the choice. Not one person has ever granted me the right to choose my own path before now.

I begin to lower my wand but stop when I hear footsteps approaching. I watch as four of my fellow Death Eaters intrude upon us, as they effectively snatch the opportunity of choice from my outstretched fingertips. They taunt him, and encourage me to do it. Order me to do it. But I can't. Ironically, I am shaking so violently now that I doubt I could, even if I tried.

They are screaming at me now, but I cannot do it. I don't even look at them. I can't tear my eyes away from Dumbledore. He is on the floor, he could be in excruciating pain and I wouldn't know. He looks as calm as ever. The only thing that betrays his state of well being is the fact that he isn't standing eye to eye with his foes. Our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds and his twinkle reassuringly at me.

I drag my gaze away as the strident coercing stops, to see Professor Snape's dark figure occupying the doorway. Immense relief wells up inside me as Snape sweeps onto the tower. I observe silently as Dumbledore pleads with him. Why would Dumbledore plead for his life? It seems unlikely. Surely he would assume Snape would help him, why would he plead?

My thoughts are jarred to a halt as deadly green light strikes Dumbledore squarely in the chest, propelling him over the castle walls. I watch as he disappears from view. I let myself be coerced down the stairs and away from the surreal scene.

Dumbledore is dead. My plan succeeded and Dumbledore is dead. Snape may have uttered the words, but I did it, I killed him. My parents are safe. I am safe. So why does it feel like I've just condemned myself? Why do I feel so cold?

_Because_, a small part of me whispers,_ you've sold your soul to Voldemort, and doomed yourself to a life of hell in his service._

I gaze through the battling wizards as Snape leads me across the school grounds, to the spot where Dumbledore must lay. Dead. And the realisation dawns upon me that my last hope of freedom died with him.


End file.
